


Toss Them To The Fire

by voiddreams



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fuck the Archangel Gabriel, Gen, Hugs, Implied Relationships, No beta we fall like Crowley, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28640808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiddreams/pseuds/voiddreams
Summary: Aziraphale is remembering Heaven. Crowley helps in the best way he knows how.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Toss Them To The Fire

Something was wrong.

Crowley could tell, as soon as he walked into the bookshop. After the Abotchalypse, as the Them jokingly referred to it, he and Aziraphale had been spending more and more time together. He practically  _ lived _ at the bookshop at this point. He’d even moved a few of the sturdier, well-performing plants there, nestling them in the window facing the streets. And Aziraphale  _ always _ greeted him when he came in, if only in shouts from the back room.

“Angel!” he shouted, setting the box of petits fours on a table, pushing some of the books aside to make room. “You stuck in a book somewhere?”

No response.

He hesitated a moment, then started towards the back room, peering down shelves as he went. “Az?”

Aziraphale was curled up on the sofa when he found him, clutching some paper in his hands. “ _ There _ you are,” Crowley said, propping his elbows on the back of the seat to try and look at the paper.

Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin. As it was, he ended up on the floor, the papers falling under the end table and out of sight.

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale quickly stood, brushing off his jacket. Crowley took note of the shakiness of his hands, the slight quiver in his breath. Something was off.

“”M not that scary, angel,” he said slowly.

“No, of course not dear, you just -” He tugged off his ring and started to pass it from hand to hand absentmindedly. “Just startled me. That’s all.”

“What were those papers?”

He started, as if he had forgotten them, then started looking across the floor, intently avoiding Crowley’s gaze. “Oh, just some, uh, some old -”

His ring fell out of his grasp, clattering against the floor. He stared at it, almost not processing for a moment, before he thought to pick it up.

Crowley walked around the couch. “Alright, out with it,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not - nothing’s -” Aziraphale wrung his hands as Crowley picked up the papers. Eve when actively avoiding reading what was on them, he recognized the bright golden-winged header and the slight tingling in his fingers where they touched the paper.

“From H - Upstairs? Are they still trying to order you around?” He felt his fingers clench around the already-crinkled paper and forced them to relax.

“N-no. They’re, ah, old messages. Was doing a bit of winter cleaning and, well. Just brought back some memories.”

“Not good ones.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, although the fidgeting of his hands kept him from being still. “... no, not particularly.”

Crowley glanced down at the papers for a moment, then handed them back to Aziraphale. As Aziraphale was looking at him, brow creasing with confusion, Crowley snapped his fingers, lighting the fireplace with a sudden  _ whoosh _ .

“C;mon,” he said, grabbing a shaken Aziraphale lightly by the arm and tugging him towards the fireplace. A minor miracle or two more and there were pillows, the tartan blanket off the couch, two cups of hot tea.

“Crowley, dear, I really don’t see -” Aziraphale protested as Crowley guided him down onto one of the pillows.

“Toss em in.”

“What?”

He spoke slowly, making sure Aziraphale understood. “We’re going to burn anything that those tossers used to make you feel like this. And we are going to talk about it. And then, if I’m feeling particularly demonic, I will help you go through your desk, find anything else that could make you feel like they have  _ any _ control over you, and we will burn that too. Understood?”

Aziraphale nodded mutely. “Whenever you’re ready,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked over the papers, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Gabriel was always rather unkind,” he said quietly. His voice was shaky, barely above a whisper. Were it not for Crowley’s demonic hearing, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to hear it at all. “Every time he - he  _ deigned _ to come down, I could hear it in his voice. The boredom. The  _ disdain _ .” He slowly moved his hand towards the fire, then, in a sudden motion, balled the paper up in one hand and threw it into the fire with enough force to send a small jet of flame upwards. “He  _ never _ cared. About me, about Earth -” The other paper was subjected to the same treatment. “ _ ANY _ thing!” He settled back down, almost looking ashamed for his outburst. “I’m terribly sorry, I -”

“Nothing to be sorry about, angel.” Crowley pushed over the white cup of tea. “They didn’t treat you properly. You can get as angry as you need.”

Aziraphale accepted the tea, taking a deep sip and sighing. “Thank you,dear,” he mumbled. “I - I believed I needed that.”

Crowley grinned and went to stand up, only to have Aziraphale grab his wrist. “Could you…” He hesitated, and Crowley could see six thousand years of dodging and distance flash across his face. He sat back down, moving closer in a clear invitation.

Aziraphale bridged the slight gap, collapsing against his side. Crowley put an arm over his shoulder. Aziraphale’s cheeks were slightly damp, and internally he cursed Gabriel, Michael, every one of the blasted bureaucrats that had dared to make  _ his _ angel feel like this. But he wasn’t going to voice those concerns right now. Right now, he hugged Aziraphale as tightly as he could and let him cry.


End file.
